


Nothing Gets Finished

by AGirloftheSouth



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Darillium, F/M, Loss, Nightmares, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirloftheSouth/pseuds/AGirloftheSouth
Summary: A month into their new life River hasn't noticed the Doctor doesn't sleep anymore, until he does.





	Nothing Gets Finished

**Author's Note:**

> This work was actually part of a much longer library fix story that has been floating around partially in my head, partially in my documents folder for quite a while. I've finally had some discipline since the Christmas Special to sit down and work on it and this is the only part I'm generally happy with. I'm posting it in hopes that maybe I'll be inspired to work on the rest of the fic. That said, it works fine as a stand alone. 
> 
> It is 100% unbetaed. If I send it to her I'll chicken out about posting it, but I also promise there are mistakes. I'm an ideas girl, not so great that the spelling and grammar. I apologize. 
> 
> I'll point out there is a moment of unintentionally mild violence and bad dreams, just in case that isn't your thing.

In the daylight we know  
what’s gone is gone,  
but at night it’s different.  
Nothing gets finished,  
not dying, not mourning;

 ~~ Margaret Atwood

 

River didn’t notice.  Time Lords needed very little sleep and he always seemed to need even less than that.  Through the course of their time together she was used to falling asleep with him right next to her, wrapped around her tight and waking up with him sitting on the far side of the bed with a book, or in his chair in the corner, or even having wandered off completely. So, as they settled into the beginnings of their life on Darillium, between the sex, more sex, and catching up on a thousand years of his life she failed to see the signs that he wasn’t sleeping at all.

They’d gone to a party, some celestial-sun-dipping-below-the-horizon thing that apparently happened at the start of every ‘night’ on Darillium. River loved a party as much as anyone, more so than most truthfully, but the sun had been dipping below the horizon for almost the whole month they’d been here. She understood that with a planetary rotation that lasted 48 years nothing was going to happen quickly, but maybe wait until the sun was actually gone. 

But it had been a chance to dress up, drink too much, and flirt with her tuxedoed husband until he’d given in to her charms and fucked her mercilessly in a cleaning closet. He gruffed and grumbled as he’d pulled a towel off the shelf cleaning himself up rather roughly, before a tenderness that didn’t match his words or his face took over and he gently used the towel on her. 

“You’re a menace,” he said, as he put the towel back on the shelf. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not going to pilfer their towel,” he replied, tucking himself back into his trousers. 

“Trust me, sweetie,” she said grabbing the offending towel and slipping it into her purse.  “They’d rather we take it.”

He mumbled under his breath as he reached out to straighten her dress. She knew he did it simply so he could be touching her, her dress was fine, but she didn’t stop him. His hands were warm, and even though his face showed annoyance, she knew better.  His eyes were tender, the corners of his lips turning up just a fraction.

He wasn’t as easy to read now. He hid behind ornery instead of happy, and was very successful at it, but she was learning quickly, and ultimately, he was the same man.  She just had to figure out his new habits.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked.  “We could dance again.”

She moved into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing their bodies together.  “I’d like that,” she smiled, “or we could head back to the Tardis and snuggle up on the sofa in front of a fire.”

A grin spread across his face.

“How very domestic of you.”

“You’re a bad influence.”

They separated, River opening the closet and striding out without any thought to who might see. She didn’t care who knew she was shagging her husband.  He followed behind a little more hesitantly, reaching for her hand when he caught up.  Their fingers wove together as they quickly said their good-byes.

The wind was cooler than it had been earlier. She was just taking notice when his tuxedo coat appeared on her shoulders. 

“Thank you, honey,” she said, slipping her arms into the sleeves. She tightened it around her, pulling it up quickly to her nose. She breathed him in, and he chuckled beside her. “Hush,” she said.  “It’s hardly my fault you smell so good.”

He just grinned, shaking his head as he draped his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side.

It was a short walk to the small wooded lot where they’d hid their phone booth. He followed her in, locking the door behind them.

“Here,” he said, making quick work of the floppy tie before handing it to her.  “Take care of that for me and I’ll get the fire started,” he said.  “You go get out of that dress.”  She raised an eyebrow, watching as he unbuttoned his top two buttons.  He just grinned before heading in the direction of the den.

She hung his coat in the closet next to her dress before grabbing a pair of his boxers and the dark hoodie he’d worn that morning.  It was hardly the sexy lingerie his last body had preferred, but this doctor enjoyed her wearing his clothes and was not really the lingerie type.

She padded bare foot down the hallway, tying her hair up high on her head as she went.  Typically, they’d curl up and read together, but a few days ago she’d discovered a collected works of Gallifreyan poetry and insisted he read to her.  It was a language she was perfectly comfortable with, both written and spoken, but there was something about hearing it on the tongue of a native speaker, probably just her native speaker, that turned her insides to jelly.

The Scottish faded when he read. His gravelly voice forming easily along the long-syllabled words as they conveyed deep devotion and love.  Listening to him read of a millennia long love affair made her understand why the small humany words were never enough for him to convey his feelings. 

They paled in comparison.

“How about,” she started as she entered the den, “you read…” she trailed off.  Instead of a Time Lord poking a fire, she walked into one sound asleep on the couch.  The fire was started, barely, but it appeared he’d sat to pour their drinks and never quite made it back up. She smiled, grabbing the poker and stirring the flames to life.

“Silly man,” she said, taking a long sip from her glass before putting everything away. She grabbed the afghan off the back of the chair before easing between him and the back of the couch.  She put her head on his shoulder and he shifted in sleep to accommodate her.  She wasn’t particularly tired, but watching her husband sleep was a very rare treat indeed.

“Finally wore you out,” she whispered, placing a kiss on his neck.

He turned his face towards her, his quiet exhalations brushing her curls. She smirked, popping open the next few buttons on his shirt and slipping her hand into to rest over his hearts.  Standing on the balcony weeks ago looking over the towers, she’d had a passing thought that he’d have more hair now, and was shocked when the opposite was true. His chest was mostly smooth, the small spattering of hairs grey and soft. 

He was softer over all, older, and perfect. He was always perfect, she thought, lightly scratching her nails against his skin. He huffed, and she stilled, tucking her head underneath his chin and closing her eyes.

She let her mind drift, quick thoughts of handsome Ramone, easily overwritten and diminished by every single version of her husband, even the ones she didn’t really like.  Images of him both remembered and created from stories swirling through her mind, including a story of the Doctor as a woman.  River could picture it perfectly, warm brown eyes, blond hair.

_Hello, Sweetie_ , the said to the vague image of a female doctor as the Tardis around them suddenly shifted, both losing their balance.

“No,” she heard, snapping her eyes open, the Tardis wasn’t moving.  Her husband was beneath her, twitching rather violently in his sleep.

“Sweetie,” she said, moving to cover him with her body as she pulled her hand out of his shirt, noting vaguely that he was sweating.  She had a moment of genuine surprise.  Nightmares had always been her issue not his. “Wake up,” she whispered just as her fingers touched his cheek.

“Clara, no…” His eyes snapped open so quickly she gasped, and it turned into a yelp as he grabbed her arms and threw her on to the floor.

She cried out as her tailbone hit the ground and her elbow the coffee table, there was a crashing noise as the small glass dish, a reminder of a previous companion, one of the early ones she could never remember slipped off the table. River saw glass pieces reflecting the dying fire.  She laid back on the floor and closed her eyes against the shooting pain up her back, while pulling her arm to her chest. She took a deep breath and held it, the pain easing as she heard her husband frantically moving next to her.

She took another steadying breath and did a quick inventory.  There were going to be some bruises, but nothing was broken.

“God, honey,” she started, ready to make a snide comment about his defenses and her being out of practice, but stopped cold when she opened her eyes. He was on the far side of the couch, looking horror struck.

“River,” he gasped, looking her up and down with zero hint of anything warm or comforting, only panic. A panic she’d never seen before. “I-- Are you—”

She sat straighter, reaching for his knee, the part of him closest to her when he broke off, appearing instantly ashen. He stood and a second later was dashing out of the room.

She stared after him, momentarily shocked.

“What the hell?” she shouted to no one, swallowing a grunt of pain as she pulled herself to her feet.  Definitely going to be some bruises.

“Doctor?” she called, deciding for a moment between heading towards their bedroom or the control room. 

_No more running._

His promise from their first night on Darillium rang through her head and she turned towards their room.

She heard his retching before she even got through the doorway.  She grabbed a flannel from the closet before following the sound, getting it damp before sinking to her knees, hiding the grimace of discomfort, beside him. She grabbed the hand closest to her and wrapped his fingers around the cool cloth before starting to sweep her hand up and down his back. 

“Are you okay?” he managed when his stomach calmed, wiping his face with the rag but never turning to look at her.  She settled her hand on his neck and started to massage.

“Couple of bruises,” he turned his head to glare at her, horrified with himself. She smiled and leaned over to place a kiss on his temple, the smell making her own stomach flop. “Fine,” she added, pulling back as he turned his attention back to the toilet. 

“What about you?” she asked, shifting to lean against the counter.

“I’m rubbish,” he snarled. “Just tossed my wife about like a ragdoll, right up against furniture.  Soon as I’m done here, I think I’ll go play in the vacuum of space, let my eyes pop out of my head or some such—”

“You can survive in the vacuum of space,” she said quietly.

“Not for long,” he hissed as he wiped his mouth again, clearly not sure if he was done being sick.  He grumbled at her and let his head drop down between his arms. 

“And you’re not rubbish.  They’re hardly the first bruises you’ve given—”

“Different,” he snapped, not looking up. She frowned.

“Yes,” she conceded, “Very different, but I’m fine.”

He didn’t say anything and for a long few minutes they sat on the floor, her eyes never leaving him, until he wiped his face one last time and stood up.  He tossed the flannel into the bin and stepped over River to get to the sink.  She stared at the wall, listening, as he rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth.  She sat quiet as he placed his palms on the counter and let his head drop again. She knew he wanted, needed even, time and space, she was only willing to wait, not leave.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, and she looked at him. He stood to his full height and met her gaze.

“Don’t be,” she said. His face twisted with disgust, he glanced at the mirror, swiping his hand across his jaw, before offering it to her. She took it and let him pull her up.  She didn’t hide the pain this time letting him steady her.

“Is it broken,” he asked, letting his hand slip to her lower back.  She’d broken her tailbone before, Europa Tricultural Celebrations, it didn’t feel like this.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, meeting his eyes.  “Just bruises.”

He nodded, pulling away and looking towards the floor.

She grabbed his hand, weaving her fingers through his and didn’t let him go far. Instead, taking a step back towards their bedroom, pulling him along.  She sat on the edge of their large bed, and he sat next to her. He pulled his hand from hers and placed his elbows on his knees.  He was taking such ragged breaths that she thought he might get sick again. 

“I thought I had a monopoly on nightmares in this marriage,” she said after several minutes, her voice soft.  When he didn’t respond she curled one leg beneath her and reached over to scratch her nails along the base of his skull.  It was a gesture that would generally make his eyes drop closed and his body relax almost instantly.  It was less effective in this moment, but his breath did catch, and she smiled as it evened out. 

“Talk to me,” she whispered. 

He shook his head, covering his face with his hands.

She thought about making a joke. A jab at the fact that he’d called another woman’s name out in sleep. Usually, he’d growl at her, bring up Ramone or Cleo or Stephen Fry, but she didn’t.  She took her lesson from him, and what he’d done for her at university and countless times after when the horrors of her childhood caught up to her. He’d just sit with her, listened when she’d talked and was close when she didn’t’.

He’d taught her how to do this.

She had no idea how much time had passed when he finally mumbled the name “Clara,” again.

He sat up, dislodging River’s gentle touches and met her gaze.  His eyes were red. “I lied to you, River.” He said.  “About Clara.”

Her stomach sank.  She’d deny it if he ever asked, but she mentally began to prepare for what he was about to say, that it had been more. That she was like Rose and he’d loved her.  Missed her.  Wanted more.  He’d recounted a lot of his adventures with Clara over the last few weeks. River thought it all sounded innocent enough.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped angrily and turned his attention back to the floor, she apparently failed to hide her jealousy. She would have snapped back if he hadn’t reached for her hand, pulling it up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles before holding it in both of his.

“I don’t,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I don’t actually remember her.”

“What?” River asked, confused.

He sat straight again, but kept his attention focused on their hands resting in his lap.

“I’ve pieced it together, most of it anyway from the hole where she should be. But I don’t remember her.  I don’t know what she looked like, or sounded like. I don’t remember anything she said or did specifically.  Just that she was there and important to me and she’s gone now.”

River was quiet, watching him as he played with her fingers, tracing his thumb on the underside of her wrist. 

“How?” she finally asked.

He took another deep breath and met her eyes.  “Neural block,” he answered, “I was trying to—” he paused, looking away again. “I was going to make her forget me. I hoped it would save her, but it was too much.  I went too far.”

River shook her head, confused and was just about to ask, when he answered.

“The hybrid,” he started.

"Oh,' she whispered as she leaned against his shoulder.

He nodded taking a deep breath before he started talking. 

She focused on their joined hands and listened. 

 


End file.
